The Last Scion Of Auri-El
by Zura
Summary: Betrayer. Lover. Murderer. Hero. Assassin. Messiah. Lydia was once the Dragonborn's closest friend and now leads three armies on an invasion of Fal'Zhardum Din – Blackreach. Her khajiit master has become a vampire king who takes the sun away from the world at will that must be stopped. It will take sacrificing everything she once cherished. Second of the "Night Cat" series.
1. Frigid Light

The great cave was usually a place of quiet, murky danger, hushed tones and soft bioluminescent light. Here and now it was a tempestuous war zone with foot soldiers battling on the damp cave floor and magical energies arcing overhead to light up the thick air like Sheogorath himself was present. There seemed to be every manner of deranged enemy possible fighting the combined might of Tamriel that had not seen since Tiber Septim last conquered the known world. Thousands of brave men and women dared to march on FalZhardum Din and in three massive groups they invaded the subterranean hold. Yet they were attacked every step of the way and the real battle had begun in the main cave. It was a shame that after all of this they were being beaten.

The de facto leader of the third expeditionary force chopped into the chest of another falmer bearing poisoned, chitin weapons. Protected by the heaviest, most solid armor around she shield bashed another and drove her magnificent, skyforged blade through its neck. A falmer spear hit her in the back hard enough to almost knock her over and Lydia whirled to chop the haft of the weapon as it came at her again. The ruined polearm fell to the ground and the feral creature launched a handful of thunder at her in response. The tired warrior lifted her heavy shield to absorb the damage and stepped in to ram the edge of it into the falmer's stomach. The creature doubled over and she ruthlessly hacked its head off in one clean blow.

The spasming body and loose head tumbled down the small outcropping she stood on as she looked around to take stock of the situation. For the moment there was no one nearby to kill and she let her arms down. The cavern though was far from empty as the main horde of the falmer engaged the invaders alongside an army of vampires, chaurus and Dwemer automatons. Of all of them there were none she feared more than the Steam Centurions, terrifying constructs that rampaged through their forces like giant metal reapers of men. The sturdiest of armor might stop one of their steam powered blows but the wearer could still be killed by the sheer pulverizing force of the attack.

Besides the many ferocious defenders she had already seen the khajiit had revealed his deadliest servant, the sickly dragon that the Dawnguard survivor had spoken of all those months ago. Seemingly weak and falling apart they discovered it was the quite the opposite. Its thundering voice and necromantic skill decimated the second army to throw their battle plan into disarray. Even though they had felled it twice it kept coming back to display what seemed like a perverse sort of immortality. Lydia took this all in stride to look around for the nearest battle and found it not far from her tiny hill. There was a group of Argonians fighting tool and nail with a pack of chaurus and dwarven spiders that did not seem to be going well. First allowing herself a couple of deep breaths and a short break she started to trudge towards them when a powerful explosion behind her made the dark haired warrior whip about.

Through a smoking crater some twenty feet in diameter the architect of the entire invasion, the imposing Imperial Battlemage Procyon Klast, came running. His stately robes were spattered and singed, his face and hair still smoking from the blast as he ran up to her.

"Procyon! You're hurt!" she shouted.

"Never mind! The north flank is lost!" he yelled back.

"Where the hell is the First Army!?"

"Balgruuf never made it!" he cried. "The cat brought the cave mouth down on their heads!"

If it was possible for Lydia to be distraught then she would have sung them a funeral hymn but she didn't have the time nor energy. "We're losing! Losing, Lydia!" Klast urged. "Take the men and find the cat! Finish this!"

Weary and disheartened the warrior nodded grimly. "I will clear your path! When I break through, go and don't look back!" he ordered.

"You're coming with me! We're leaving together!" she insisted.

Half of his face was red and scorched, the tips of his graying hair burned black but the tortured look in his eyes was a glimpse of true pain. "You're leaving with me!" she repeated.

"I'll clear your way!" he uttered, his voice almost inaudible over the din.

* * *

When she made it to the Dragonborn's command post far up on FalZhardum Din's highest building the roar of the pitched battle below was fairly muted. Alone the former housecarl walked across a circular dias on the other side of which the cat was rapidly speaking commands into Dwemer machines even she could not comprehend. He was switching between standard and fluent Dwemeri effortlessly as he directed his forces seemingly all from this one place. When the warrior neared the center of the dias he stopped talking in that rolling, throaty accent that plagued her dreams. Turning around slowly the Dragonborn faced her for the first time in years.

He was exactly the way she remembered for better or worse. Beautiful gray, black and white fur in swirling patterns wrapped around his well muscled body and handsome khajiiti face. His eyes were bewildered at the moment but that brilliant amber hue never failed to startle her. He was dressed in simple black robes but she knew that he was fully prepared for total war despite appearing unarmed. She could just barely see the top of the deep scars poking out from his robes which riddled his torso and were created by monstrous, draconic claws. On top of his head he wore a miraculous artifact, an item that shouldn't exist: a tempered metal crown studded with the mythical material they long searched the depths of Skyrim for, Aetherium.

"Lydia?" he said in utter disbelief, his feline eyes barely understanding what they were seeing. She tried to say something but emotion and a terrible weight on her chest stopped her. His eyes oscillated as he struggled to come to terms with her presence.

"You found the forge then?" she asked to try to break the ice but he didn't respond. This was harder than the ceaseless fighting it took to get here in the first place.

"You are the one who led them here..." he rapidly deduced.

"I...I..." she stumbled.

"Never would this one do something like that to you." he said and the cat's stupefied disappointment cut her to the bone.

"This one didn't want to harm khajiit!" she pleaded. "He has to stop!"

"The world can try to bury him and we will only smile at this. But Lydia tries to kill him and he knows only sorrow." the Dragonborn shook his head sadly.

"Please...please forgive me. My Thane...dear one...Drozo'aja."

"Do not call this one that! You have no right anymore!" he huffed.

"You don't know what you're doing, what your actions have lead to! People are dying, the world is in pain, dear one!"

"Pain!? PAIN!?" he roared and his voice slipped into an inhumanly deep, dragon baritone that made the stones underneath them shake. "Pain is the price of living in this world! Pain is the elves of Valenwood and Summerset murdering khajiiti kittens in their beds! Pain is written on this one's body by the son of Alkosh! Pain is khajiit's great friend coming to kill him as thanks for saving this world!"

With heart breaking anguish and bottomless regret she rested her hand on the pommel of her sword. "Please believe me that I never wanted to do this."

"Only a fool would believe so." he spat as she backed up to the outer edge of the dias. "You sicken this one."

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as he began to amp up whatever frightening abilities he had acquired since she last traveled with him. Before he could act almost twenty heavily armed, elite assassins and skilled mages broke their cloaks of invisibility and silence to reveal themselves. As one the mages hit him with a stream, no, a river of mighty electric current that fried the vampire cat where he stood. Throwing his head back he howled in agony and fell on his knees to the hard stone roof. Lydia cloaked herself like they were and circled around them all as the mages poured enough pure energy into him to fell a dragon.

When they had to stop there was a great black mark where they had scorched the rock underneath him and he sat on his haunches stiffly shaking. Lydia wasn't convinced he was incapacitated yet the warriors of the detachment surged forward to finish the job. She went to cry out at them to stop but they were already in motion and it would have broken her concealing spells. When they reached him she heard the Dragonborn utter a string of words and the cat blurred. Not only unharmed he moved faster than the eye could follow and three of the warriors were dead before she knew what was happening. Zig-zagging like lightning from one to the next he slowed to where he could be seen stabbing the strike party with twin daggers glowing red hot in his hands. Carefully watching him as he was hit by fire, ice and more electricity Lydia saw none of them even slow him down as his weapons rent metal and plate like they were made of paper.

She was nearly in position when he shouted again and had she been caught in the blast radius she would have been blown away too. Some of them went screaming over the edge of the building from the force shout and those that didn't were scattered in tumbling heaps. She'd seen this many times before as he pounced on the warriors first with quick, fatal stabs to the heart or throat almost without stopping. He was halfway through the mages when she closed in on exactly where she needed to be. Coming up from his rear as he killed two more she angled towards his back when he finished with them. Only a few paces away when the last mage fled for his life the cat unexpectedly threw one of his glowing knives. The weapon flipped end over end to strike the robed man in the spine as Lydia raised her sword in the air. It should have been a near debilitating blow but even being attacked from nothingness he still twisted away instinctively and she just barely scored a thin cut across his back.

Her enchantments disappeared and he spun to hit her point blank with a savage Fo shout, a deadly eruption of cold and ice that she'd seen kill a giant dead in its tracks. She knew him well though and her armor was specially prepared and altered to resist him. Much lighter than normal plate it was rigorously enchanted to stop both cold and dragon breath attacks like he favored. The shout would have likely killed her outright in her normal armor but Lydia barely felt the chill. With only a fraction of the force and damage getting to her she marched into the jet of frost with her shield held high. Bashing him because she knew that he would be forced to close his eyes when breathing at her she landed a solid blow and blindly struck through the frost with her sword.

The weapon hit nothing but air and she backed up immediately. It was too late though for the Dragonborn retaliated by ramming his remaining dagger through the top of her shield. She felt the waves of heat radiating from the weapon but it wasn't long enough to harm her. It was a short lived hope as he used the embedded knife like a lever and threw her entire body to the left. Spinning to the ground Lydia felt weightless for half a second before the floor hit her like a battering ram. Dazed and her equilibrium readjusting she offered little resistance as he ripped her shield from her arm and planted a knee on her breastplate. Trying to angle her sword at him she was again overpowered as he latched onto her wrist and slammed it down. With his other hand he put his deadly claws around her windpipe so that she felt the very tips of them on her bare skin but then cat hesitated. Panicking Lydia yanked the spare dagger from her hip and as she looked up at his bloodied face she buried the needle like knife to the hilt in his chest.

His lungs deflated and her master's face grimaced in mortal, shocking pain. Taking his hand off her throat he gripped the dagger and she let it go fearfully. With superhuman resolve he grunted as he pulled six inches of metal out of his own torso. Hot blood fell on her iced breastplate as he held the slick dagger over her face. The moment seemed frozen in time as they looked at each other and a couple droplets of his blood lightly dotted her cheek. Taking a ragged breath that made him growl in his throat he suddenly moved his hand and dropped the weapon harmlessly to the side of her head. Before slumping off of her to the floor his determined, tortured expression as he looking deep into her eyes made an indelible mark on her psyche. Laying on his back with his legs twisted the other direction the cat panted his last breaths as Lydia rolled over to cradle his head.

"Drozo'aja..." she bawled softly. In what had to be terrible pain he reached out to the air and a dremora appeared from the ether standing next to them.

"Is my-" it started to say before seeing them.

"Give her...the bow." the Dragonborn quivered. Its black eyes showing disbelief the entity nevertheless silently pulled a magnificent, eldritch white bow from thin air. Handing the weapon to a confused Lydia it gave her a look of pure disgust before fading back to Oblivion.

"What, what..?" she stumbled as she laid it to the side.

The khajiit lifted a paw wet with his own warm blood to her face. "This one...could never harm you, ghk!" he coughed on his own fluids. "The bow is how he rules the sun...this one names you the Scion of Auri-El..."

Lydia had seen many people, goodly and evil, pass on to the afterlife and she knew that he wasn't long for this world. His hand fell to the floor and she blinked through the tears to say, "Wait, my love, please, there's so much I need to-"

His drooping eyes floated open and he whispered, "Lee-dee-ah...dearest one...go on for..."

The Dragonborn's body went limp and he exhaled one last gurgling breath that was more gravity in action than his diaphragm moving on its own accord. His chest did not rise again and the former housecarl could do nothing but watch the light leave his dazzling eyes. In a near catatonic state she sat up and listened to the distant sound of the battle still raging below. Looking at the bodies surrounding them Lydia started stripping off her armor as fast as she could. When she was done she pulled the bow over her head and then stooped to heft the Dragonborn's still warm body over her shoulder. She could not leave him here like this and already began to plan the fastest route to an elevator, far away from this place.


	2. Warm Darkness

The fire popped and crackled as it warmed the cold night air seeping into the small hut. Breezehome was a modest domocile but it now officially belong to the quiet woman sitting alone in front of the small blaze. The generosity and adoration shown towards her however did little to alter the mood of the heroine. The simply joy of flames and warmth held no solace and neither did the heap of accolades that were being piled on her. Staring into the fire the former housecarl had not dared even go upstairs yet. She could not face his empty room, not even to move past it to her own. When she did find sleep down here it was never for long and never particularly restful.

No matter how much time passed she could not begin to heal from what happened. Before the invasion she saw him in her dreams, hovering over her, watching her, talking to her in tongues she could not understand. Now her nightmares were far too specific and were not of things yet to happen but things that had been done. Over and over she saw that look on his face when he pulled out the knife but with supreme willpower did not so much as scratch her with it. On her way out of the gloom that fateful day a pack of Nords saw her and followed the warrior to an elevator where they all escaped. Dubbed 'The Thirty-Seven' they were the only survivors and in that cramped space she saw the horror on their faces as she clutched his body. None of them could understand what she had done, what they made her do. Harsh memories were the cruelest of poisons.

The warrior felt a presence and her hand went to the scabbard of her nearby skyforge sword all on its own. It was too late as a frigid dagger was slipped under her chin half a second later. Lydia's chest tightened up as she waited for the attacker to end her life but it didn't happen. When she slowly released the sword after a few tense moments the mystery assailant snatched the weapon away. The cold knife was taken off her neck and from behind her a pale faced vampress with jet black hair moved into her living room. Picking up a chair she set it directly opposite of Lydia and took a seat tp square up with her. Beautiful she was but the intense, glowing eyes of the night walker were unsettling to say the least.

"You." was all Lydia could think to say. The vampress didn't respond but appeared to be trying to murder her with a baleful stare.

"Here to kill me?"

"I should." the intruder snarled. Like her physical appearance her voice was pleasing at first but when she was angry it dripped with a murderous malice. "I should kill you every day for century before letting the rats eat you alive limb by limb."

"Creative." Lydia remarked.

"He spared you, so I'll leave you breathing. But mark my words, that is the thinnest, the only reason you're alive right now. I hope he finds your soul in the afterlife and does terrible things to you."

He wouldn't even if he could but Lydia kept that thought to herself. "Then why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I came to see the great Scion herself." the other woman spat. Lydia could not keep the alarm from her face but the vampress held up a hand.

"Don't bother. I've already taken it. It's useless in your hands anyway."

"How did you know?"

"We found it together. I know everything about him and the business of being the Scion. You are falsely wear even that title."

"He gave the bow to me." she reminded the spiteful vampire.

"Like I care."

"What are you going to do with it?"

The pale woman leaned back to think for a few moments. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll turn the sun off for a thousand years as punishment for you cattle murdering my lord."

"He was my lord too." Lydia said hollowly.

"He was also my friend and more. I loved him."

"So did I."

"You lie!" the vampress shrieked as she jumped out of her chair. Lydia bolted straight back in her seat and the fires in the room suddenly shrank down to almost nothing. The room went dark and cold for a few long seconds and all Lydia could see was the visage twisted by hatred baring teeth at her. But the bloodsucker calmed down and as her wrath dissipated the fires in the room returned to their previous normal levels. It did not stop Lydia's suddenly spiked heart beat from continuing to thud in alarm though.

"Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, Scion of Auri-El, not that you have any idea what that means. You do not kill someone that you truly love."

The broken Nord started to cry. In a volatile state of depression, detached fear and unbearable guilt she didn't care if this person saw her. Her master was never far from her thoughts and this creature was hitting her where it hurt the most. "He made me!" she wept bitterly and unabashedly. "The world was dying. He was going to bury us all."

"You fool." the woman said pitilessly. "The wild ones, the ones beyond our control or who rebelled against the plan were the threat to stability. What did you think he was doing as the Scion?"

"I...I don't..."

"He was eradicating the dissenters, purging the night kin who would not behave. He wanted to build a world were we could come to an accord, not launch a campaign to rule in endless darkness. If he wanted to strike the sun from the sky forever, he could have. If you'd only talked to him instead of sending untold numbers to their deaths, he would have told you so."

"They still...would have went." Lydia struggled to say.

"He saved this world, you know this." the vampress asserted. "If he chose to shape it to his liking, I'd say he earned the right. But you idiots conspired to kill that great man for all his trouble. Thanks for nothing."

"We just..." the heroine started before squeezing her quickly reddening eyes shut. "I did what I thought was right."

Studying her for a few moments the night walker then gave her a disturbing, predatory smile. "You know, I'm glad I didn't end you. I want you to live with what you've done. And if I decide that our arrows will blot out the sun anyway, I want you to know that I'm doing it as recompense. Not for the coalition, not against Tamriel, but you personally, for taking him away from me. And every death and upheaval that results from it will be on your shoulders...you traitorous bitch."

The vampress got up to leave but Lydia put out a hand. "Wait!"

Eying her suspiciously the pale woman yet listened while she went on. "If you don't use the bow...what will you do with it?"

"Not that it matters to you, but there is a place beyond your reach where the bow truly belongs. A snow elf waits there and has cared for it for millennia. I might just hand it back to him."

Not sure if she heard correctly Lydia ignored the comment. She had to say something to her guest even though the vampress hated her with a fiery passion. It seemed this was the only other person in the whole world who cared for the khajiit as much as she did. "I didn't want to do it." she practically begged her to comprehend. "None of it. I never wanted to betray him. You understand the depths of my sorrow, don't you? What would you have done if he sought to dispel the night forever and eradicate your people?"

Thinking on it the vampress answered, "I would have stood at his side until the very end. I would have followed him to Oblivion. I hope that thought comforts you, when you're old and gray, that you betrayed someone who would have done the same for you."

The vampress left by the front door and Lydia felt the chill of the other woman's presence long, long after she was gone.

* * *

Later, out on the vast, open plains of Whiterun. The newly minted jarl of the city stood alone on top of a grand funeral mound. By personal force and new found status she bade her craftsmen to build a magnificent tomb for the Dragonborn. It would stand as a monument complete with ancient style word wall to those who gave their lives in the haunted deep. There was a mild outcry on behalf of the countless souls who never returned to the light sharing a dedication with the very cat that made it so but she built it anyway. There were few people left of considerable influence and power to oppose her and none dared to now. With Balgruuf, Tullius and Ulfric all dead there was even talk of raising her to High Queen since the jarls who didn't go were branded cowards by their own people. It was sickening that the world over sang her praises like adoring sheep mewling at the shepherd.

The sun had chosen to bless the occasion this day and many hundreds were gathered around the high mound where they stood on to get a look at a legend for the ages. They affixed a host of titles and nicknames to her that the jarl never asked for, The Beacon, the Lady of Light, Torch of Skyrim, Shor's Hammer. It all made the former housecarl sick to her stomach knowing that she deserved none of them. In her hand were a few scraps of parchment and on them a speech penned by someone else for she had no talent with words nor the inclination to praise herself. The smiling and celebratory crowd had come to hear her speak though, some from very far away. It was the least she could do for the others. Lydia vowed that morning to try to make it through the day without throwing up and so far so good.

Clearing her throat the jarl read the first few lines of the speech to herself before signaling for the drums to start. The nearby musicians struck up a quick tune to pacify great assembly and in a few moments the only sound Lydia heard was a gentle breeze whispering through the tall grass as they finished.

"Greetings, all who share in the light." she yelled as loudly as she could without straining her voice. "We mark this, a day of giving thanks and remembrance, for all of the long centuries to come. The sons and daughters of Skyrim, of Tamriel, have given us a future again. Let us bow our heads, for we all have lost and suffered together."

As one the masses all looked down to their feet and Lydia took the chance to read ahead. She didn't bother reviewing the speech beforehand and wished she had. Her nausea increased and when she started speaking again she had great difficulty keeping tears from her eyes. "We, the Thiry-Seven who have returned to you, commend our many fallen with this memorial that they may never be forgotten. Let us always laud their buh...bravery and...true honor and...loyalty."

The weight of things hit Lydia hard as her hand fell to her side and the sheets of parchment in it fluttered to the ground like falling leaves. The vampress' warning rushed to her mind and the unbearable thought of a lifetime of praise truly sunk in. From now to the end of her days she would be known as Light Bearer, the Herald of Dawn or a thousand other titles. None of them were appropriate and only one had any meaning to it in her mind, the one that hurt the most, the one she never wanted to hear again.

"I...I'm sorry." she shouted to a sea of adoring faces that thought she simply was having trouble making it through the speech. "The truth...the truth is I don't deserve any of this. I was once a servant to the Dragonborn, this you all know. What you don't know is that I...I loved him. We loved each other. I still do. I know, I know how that must sound."

She had to repeat herself over the sudden commotion that her statement caused. "Please, please believe me when I say that he was not wholly evil." she spoke over the rising murmurs. "He saved us. I repeat to you all, he saved us, this whole world. His body was covered in terrible scars from battling dragons, Alduin, your enemies. Please do not think of him as a monster. He did what I would have done, what he thought was right."

The crowd was bewildered, becoming angry and turbulent but Lydia had just this one moment to set things right. There were some scattered boos out in the distance but she didn't care, not anymore. Maybe people would hate her, maybe they wouldn't. "He could have killed me with a flick of his wrist. But he didn't, he couldn't, not even with my knife in his chest. That is not the act of a maniac but someone with a conscience...someone I cared for very much. And I am the one who put him here under my feet."

There were some louder and clearer shouts and boos but she was far beyond that. Taking in a deep breath she freed the knife on her hip from its scabbard. It was a beautiful, curved piece of steel shaped to resemble an eagle talon and it was honed sharp enough to cut a daedra. The jarl stood there on the mound with her chest seizing up and her heart pounding. Tears rolled down her face but she forced herself to breathe as the rest of the world faded from her senses.

Bringing the knife across her body she rested its wicked tip just behind her jugular. Sucking in a mighty lungful of air as someone screamed she exhaled and drove the metal into her soft skin. It was agony to feel bits of her neck coming apart but she quickly wrenched the weapon down with all her strength. Lydia cried out in pain as she felt warmth explode everywhere but it came out as a gurgled moan. The darkness swiftly claimed her and she did not even feel her body hit the ground.

* * *

The new, acting jarl was now the most prominent citizen left of the few that returned or never went to Blackreach. Nazeem was a successful merchant but no leader by any stretch of the imagination and almost universally hated at one time. The city was in such a sorry state that no one seemed to mind that he was woefully under qualified to rule, even temporarily. His captain of the guard now reporting was a lad who had seen barely enough winters to count as a man but was still the best they had.

"And bandits are threatening, milord." he concluded.

"This is an unprecedented mess." Nazeem despaired.

"There is one more thing.." the boy said uncomfortably. "The uh...remains of the Lady of Light are in the Hall. They want to know what to do with her."

The redguard put a palm to his face and shook his head. "Oh, why did she have to do such a thing? When we needed her most..."

"Milord...?"

"Tell them...tell them to give her full rites under Arkay. Take her to the tomb out on the plains...lay her down beside the cat." Nazeem said tiredly.

"Are you sure?"

"She followed him into death. I think the least we can do is honor her final wish to be with her master."

"Yes, milord. Ah..."

"What is it now?"

"Speaking freely, jarl? It's just...I don't get it. Why'd she do it? She had everything, money, power, fame."

Nazeem looked down at his wedding band and thought of his late wife, long since taken by the vampires. "Sometimes a loved one is worth the world entire and you don't know it until they're gone." he said in a numb tone. Sighing deeply he rose to weary feet. "Come. Let us go to the temple and pay a visit to the dead. Divines smile on those who are thankful for what they have."

The two men walked towards the doors of the great hall and their steps magnified its emptiness. Going out into the cold night neither one was ashamed to admit that it was good to have a comrade no matter how bleak things seemed. On their way, they chatted amicably about the imminent, promising harvest.

The End


End file.
